


runs in the family

by transrantula



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: (just a finger in the first chapter), Angst, Animal Death, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Child Abuse, Emotional Manipulation, Gaslighting, Loss of Limbs, M/M, Murder, Snakes, aha this is sad!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:26:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27934585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transrantula/pseuds/transrantula
Summary: “You need to kill Hisoka Morrow.”There’s a rush of blood that Illumi can hear rattling around his skull. He imagines it idly, the gush of crimson pounding against the walls of his capillaries and veins, fighting with each other for a spot against those boundaries, desperate to burst free and soak his scalp, down his hair, dripping into his eyes. He wants to make himself bleed, just to see it writhe against his skin.He’s not allowed to make himself bleed. That’s a privilege meant just for others.“Hisoka Morrow?” he echoes and Silva nods curtly.Illumi wants to be sick.
Relationships: Hisoka/Illumi Zoldyck
Comments: 7
Kudos: 49





	runs in the family

**Author's Note:**

> AAAAAAAA i have hisoillu brainrot ok byyyeee
> 
> update: this isn't abandoned per sae, but it's not a priority that i'm working on rn, so it'll be a fair while before there's any updates probably D:
> 
> -ritz

Illumi’s used to watching Hisoka when he doesn’t know he’s there.

It started a little after they met and has persisted up until this point. It’s soothing to watch him go about his day, hair down against his shoulders and devoid of any makeup. He’s much tanner without it, and he has freckles decorating his cheeks rather than that delightful pair of stars and teardrops. 

He steps out of a jewelry store with a velvet box that Illumi can sense, from his perch on a rooftop overlooking the market, is something for him. Hisoka’s been doting on him recently and it makes him suspicious. He supposes, considering why he’s watching Hisoka, he can’t exactly judge him for acting suspiciously. 

Hisoka turns away from the jewelry store, a stand of fresh fruit obviously having caught his eye. He plucks a grapefruit from the pile and presents it to the vendor who blushes violently. Her cheeks are so red that Illumi is certain he can feel the heat from all the way up here. 

Hisoka’s bartering, he’s sure. It’s so stupid. He has the money to pay full price and if he didn’t, Illumi’s more than happy to give it to him. It’s even stupider because he knows Hisoka hates grapefruit. Illumi loves it. A strange coincidence, probably. 

Armed with three grapefruit and a small woven basket of strawberries (although he definitely only handed over a few coins), Hisoka strolls away from the stall and vanishes into an alleyway. Illumi hops over rooftops like a dancer to keep him in view - Hisoka’s slippery, but Illumi’s been practicing at capturing things like him since he was a child. 

He’s almost grateful for his mother teaching him so vigorously, if not for the fact she’s the reason he’s tracking Hisoka down to murder in the first place.

Hisoka’s not in the alleyway. 

Fuck.

He’s almost certain that Hisoka knew he was there, even though he really shouldn’t have been able to tell. This assassination has just gotten ten times more complicated. Illumi  _ really _ doesn’t want to do this. 

* * *

When Illumi was five years old, his mother made him catch snakes. 

He’d been sore, he remembers, but then again, he always was sore at that age. It had made sense to be tied to the ceiling with cuffs around his wrists and ankles and beat half to death by his father to test his resolve; it was a typical exercise to go through. One of his parents would give him a word and the other would torture him until he said it. 

It was important. It was necessary. It was, hell, it was  _ kind _ . His parents were looking out for him and his future - how was he supposed to be a good assassin if he couldn’t handle torture. 

“We’re going to try something different today, Il…” his mother had told him. She never said his full name. He’s pretty sure she forgot it, but it doesn’t matter. His name isn't important. He’s ‘boy’ and ‘child’ and ‘nuisance’ and ‘menace’ and ‘terror’ and Illumi feels so much more attachment to those terms than his real name because that’s what his parents call him all the time. 

“Yes, Mother,” he’d replied dutifully. He can’t complain. He doesn’t know her name either. She’s just Mother. 

“Do you know what I have in this basket, boy?” Mother asks and Illumi shakes his head. They’re in the forest surrounding the estate, Illumi sitting, cross-legged, back ramrod straight, in front of his mother, who has a woven basket at her feet. 

“Do you know what snakes are?”

“Yes, Mother-”

“No,” Mother corrects, “no, you don’t know what they are. But I’ll be teaching you about them today.” That doesn’t really make any sense to Illumi. He told Mother he knows what snakes are because he does - they’re wriggly, slimy little things that slither about the forest sometimes, before Mike or one of their other hounds snap them up. It always makes Illumi laugh, to see Mike’s frantically wagging tail sticking out of the bushes he’s sniffing in. 

“But, I do know-”

Illumi knows better than to scream at the sharp burst of pressure that explodes against his temples, but he can’t help but do so anyway. It  _ hurts _ , he’s all softness and baby fat unlike his parents, and his squishy little body parts ache uncontrollably when he gets punished like this. 

His mother hits him again for his noise and he bites his lip hard enough that blood dribbles down his chin. There’s another whack against his cheek and he rocks backward, not even trying to get away from it, just from the momentum of the hit; his mother grabs him by the chin and drags him up to his feet.

“Mother-”

“ _ Don’t _ ,” his mother hisses, like the snakes she’s talking about. “Don’t talk back to me. We were out here having a lovely time and you had to  _ ruin it _ , just like you do  _ everything  _ else,” she says and her voice descends into a wail the longer she speaks.

It’s all his fault.

Her grip on his chin slackens and he throws himself back on the ground, head bowed and hands balanced on his kneeling legs. “I’ll be better, Mother,” he murmurs and she taps at him with the heel of her boot. “I’ll be better, Mother,” he repeats, clearer this time. She tuts and he stiffens, bracing for another hit.

“Pick up the basket, child,” Mother says and he scrambles to do so, knees almost buckling as he loops his hands round the straps and hoists it into his arms. It’s  _ heavy _ , and he itches to lift the lid and peer inside. It can’t be the snakes that Mother was talking about, otherwise, the basket would be hissing and writhing. He always likes watching snakes do that. It feels like he’s watching what goes on in his chest all the time. 

“Tell me,” Mother says and then doesn’t continue for a long time. “Tell me!”

“T-tell you?” Illumi asks, taking a step back and trying not to drop the basket, half in fear and half just at how heavy it is. 

“Do you know what snakes are, boy?” Mother asks and Illumi blinks owlishly at her, stifling the urge to scuff his shoes against the dusty ground. He knows that he has to tell her ‘no’, but that would be lying and Mother doesn’t like liars either. 

“I...I- no. No, Mother,” Illumi says and keeps his gaze down and eyes scrunched up, certain he’s about to be struck again. 

“Good boy!” Mother praises and ruffles his hair, giving him an affectionate tap under the chin to bring his gaze up. Hope bursts in his chest - it’s one of Mother’s good days and he couldn’t be happier. His chest feels tight and his tongue is too big for his mouth and his eyes water and his heart is pounding and that means he’s happy, Mother tells him. 

“Thank you, Mother,” he says because he has to be polite. His voice wavers. That happens because he’s happy too. Mother would never lie to him, so it must be true. It must be.

“Stay focused,” Mother admonishes and Illumi hushes and nods, eager for instruction. If he has instructions, it means he can do something right which means Mother has the option to call him good. He likes being called good, but he’s not often good apparently, so he doesn’t get to be praised. He just has to try harder. 

“Open the basket, boy,” Mother says and Illumi cracks open the lid hastily.

His eyes take a second to adjust to the darkness pooled within but when they do, he almost drops the basket again. It  _ is _ snakes - there must be hundreds of them but he’s certain they’re dead. None of them are moving, not even the slightest. 

“What do you see, Illumi?” Mother asks. 

Oh. She does know his name. That makes him feel something else, something that isn’t ‘happy’ but makes him feel good nevertheless. Whatever the feeling is, it’s making him smile. 

“I see lots of snakes, Mother,” Illumi says and then questions if he was allowed to say that. He’s not supposed to know about snakes, his mother has helpfully informed him, but he doesn’t know if that means he can’t know about snakes whatsoever. He knows what snakes look like, he’s allowed to know that, isn’t he? Isn’t he?

“Yes, there are lots of snakes here. We’re going to be setting them free today,” Mother says and Illumi nods, then furrows his brow. 

“I-” he begins and then snaps his lips shut. Mother nods at him and he exhales a shaky breath. “I thought they were dead, Mother.” It’s a stupid thing to say, such a stupid, stupid thing, but he says it anyway. He knows not to question Mother, God, he hates himself so much. It’s his own fault if he gets hit again. 

“That’s alright, Illumi. You’re not very smart,” Mother says and Illumi sighs in relief. “Why don’t you reach into the basket?”

Illumi knows he’s not intelligent, but he does know how to follow orders. He slips his hand into the basket without a second thought and shrieks when the snakes suddenly start to writhe, twisting and coiling around his hand, their fangs and eyes flashing. It hurts to yank his hand away, and Illumi drops the basket, flinching when it rolls and collides with Mother’s heeled boots. 

He’s certain that his finger is broken, but he doesn’t really care. Mother and Father can do much, much worse if he keeps annoying them. 

Illumi doesn’t even see Mother move before his back is flat against the ground and she’s looming over him, one clawed finger brushing the tip of his nose like she’s mocking him. Her breath smells like cinnamon and he can’t help but wrinkle his nose, twitching it like a rabbit. 

“Illumi,” Mother begins and her voice is painfully strained. 

The snakes in the basket are silent but the ones in Illumi’s chest are squirming about like they’re on fire. It hurts to breathe and there’s a rock digging into his back and his head is oozing steadily into the dirt, a trickle of blood dripping down the curve of his ear from the gash at the back. His neck is bent awkwardly but he’s scared to move it in case Mother decides to slip her talon into the dip of his throat and slice him open, gut him like a fish. 

Mother sighs and stands back up.

“Get up.”

Illumi’s never scrambled to his feet so quickly. His head spins at the sudden change, but he ignores it like a good soldier. Mother gestures to the basket and it’s back in Illumi’s tired grasp before she has the chance to scream at him. The snakes are still, disconcertedly, still. 

“Aren’t you going to thank me for being so lenient?” Mother asks and Illumi chokes on air in his haste to do so.

“Yes, Mother, thank you, Mother,” he stutters, shifting the basket back onto his hip. He looks like one of their maids, with their baskets of laundry - he’d rather be helping them, right now, but this is important. It must be, or Mother wouldn’t be making him do it. 

His heart flutters when she comes closer to him and that’s ‘excitement’, Illumi knows. He feels excited every time she’s about to hit him or when she takes him to Silva’s room for him to take out his frustrations. Mother doesn’t hit him and Illumi huffs out a hushed breath, his chest curiously feeling much tighter - he doesn’t know what she’s going to do if she’s not hitting him. 

“Take a snake out of the basket,” Mother orders. Illumi really doesn’t want to. “Take a snake!” Mother shrieks and Illumi plunges his hand back into the basket, ignoring the tears that spring to his eyes when the now thrashing pile of snakes attack him again. They don’t use their fangs, just coil their thin bodies around his fingers and constrict, cutting off the blood flow and making his bones creak. They’re going to break one soon, he’s sure. 

When his fingers close around a snake, a small silvery one with fangs like tiny needles, it slips into teeth into the soft flesh of his palm and doesn’t let go. It’s a sharp, shooting pain and Illumi whimpers, lower lip wobbling as he tries desperately not to cry. Mother hates it when he cries. 

It’s harder to pull his hand out now than it was the first time and something in his wrist clicks loudly when he finally wrenches it free. The snake latched onto his hand crunches down harder, but the snakes in the basket are much quieter, eventually settling again. It’s creepy and Illumi’s skin crawls. His Mother hasn’t told him what emotion that is yet, but it makes him feel bad so it must be a good emotion. 

“Drop the snake. I told you we were letting them go, didn’t I?”

Illumi opens his hand from its desperate clench around the viper and his wrist tingles. When he rolls it gingerly, his eyes water and something in it splinters, sounding like crumpled paper. He’s had so much worse, though. 

The snake won’t let go of his hand and Illumi glances nervously at his mother, frantic for some sort of guidance. The two little pinpricks of the snake’s fangs have turned into a burning, fiery pain and Illumi  _ has _ hurt so much worse, but it doesn’t mean he’s having fun. 

“It won’t let go,” Illumi whines, shaking his hand anxiously and turning his imploring gaze on his mother, who stares him down without a kind word to offer. Her jaw is clenched so tight that it twitches every so often and Illumi knows he shouldn’t push it but he’s so...he’s so ‘happy’ and he doesn’t want to be. “Mama,  _ please _ .”

“I’ve told you not to call me that, boy,” Mother hisses and Illumi keens through the grit of his teeth and is hit with an idea. He shoves his hand into his own mouth, canines finding the squirming, slimy body of the creature and bites down,  _ hard _ . 

The snake seizes up and slackens and Illumi can finally shake it off. It hits the forest floor, sending up a plume of dust, and disappears, all in one breath. Illumi finally feels like he can breathe again. 

“Wasn’t that lovely?” Mother asks and Illumi nods without thinking. “Good. The next one.”

“The...the next one?” Illumi asks, staring down at the two deep gouges in his hand, transfixed by the drip-drip-drip of crimson. He’s usually blindfolded when he’s training with Silva, so he never gets to see his own blood. It’s...he isn’t sure what to make of it. 

“I suppose you’re right,” Mother starts, and then continues before Illumi can rejoice. “We should probably spread them out a little. Let’s go on a walk.”

She turns on her heel and starts to march, deeper into the forest and further away from the house. Illumi grabs the basket with both hands again, stumbling at the sudden burst of pain, and hurries after her. Mother doesn’t walk for very long, mainly because she’s so quick about it - Illumi’s panting trying to keep up with her with his heavy load and his much, much shorter legs.

When she finally stops, only about five minutes later, it’s so abrupt that Illumi almost runs into her. He’s usually able to right himself pretty quickly, but his head is spinning for some reason and Illumi’s feet end up in the air, back flat against the ground and basket splayed over his chest. 

It’s open and there’s a group of three snakes - big ones - curled up around the rim and his stomach. One of them slithers slowly up and up, closer to his throat and Illumi shrieks, slamming the lid of the basket shut, trapping two of the snakes, and frantically shooing the other away. It hisses loudly and then scrambles away into the undergrowth. 

“You’ve got dirt all over your clothes,” Mother says testily and Illumi remembers himself, shoving himself to his feet again and desperately pushing away the nausea that rises in his stomach. The basket feels even heavier when he picks it up again but he’s a whole five years old. He needs to stop being so  _ pathetic _ . 

“Sorry, Mother,” he says earnestly and Mother huffs. 

“Come on,” Mother says and she’s already moving again, the opposite direction that the snake disappeared to. Illumi bites back his tears and follows. 

Another snake is let loose. Mother storms away. Illumi follows. 

Another snake. Mother moves quicker this time and Illumi has to run to keep up. 

Another. Illumi thinks he’s about to pass out. 

The snakes never move until he’s forced to yank one out of the basket and it’s startling to see them suddenly spring to life. It’s a test of Illumi’s obedience more than anything else he thinks, because it  _ hurts _ to do this. It’s not just...it’s not just the physical aspect. Privately, so privately that Illumi wouldn’t even be able to admit it to himself, Illumi hurts because he’s  _ jealous _ . The snakes get to escape. He doesn’t. 

The basket is about half empty when the pit in Illumi’s stomach starts screaming at him to be filled. He knows better than to ask to stop and eat. 

There’s blood on his teeth. He keeps having to bite the vipers to get them to let go of wherever they’ve latched onto. His one hand is coated in red, which Illumi’s strangely grateful for, actually, because it helps to cover up the grotesque bruising of his now broken fingers. 

Illumi’s having trouble breathing and swallowing by nightfall. The snakes are venomous, he’s pretty certain. 

“You know, these snakes are used as security mechanisms all over the world,” Mother says when Illumi reaches into the basket and finally,  _ finally _ , pulls out the last viper. It’s the biggest one and it’s hot, heavy body manages to wrap around the entirety of Illumi’s short, blood-drenched arm. 

Illumi drops the baskets, throws himself to the ground and uses his entire body to attack the snake, writhing and hissing and biting just as much as it is. Its fangs are the same width as his pinky finger and he doesn’t even have the energy to scream through the haze in his brain when the snake twists and redoubles its efforts to tear his whole hand off. One fang has pierced the whole way through his smallest finger, whilst the other is impaled through the bones of his hand, shattering them. 

The snake thrashes, once, twice, and Illumi loses his pinky finger. 

It tears off with a sudden, indescribable pain and then everything is numb and Illumi turns into some sort of animalistic wild child, scrabbling to claw and bite and tear at the snake. They lock eyes as Illumi closes his teeth - he’s lost one recently, one of the middle ones at the very front of his mouth - around the very base of the viper’s skull. There’s nothing behind that golden, slit-pupil gaze. 

The snake is just an animal. Illumi thinks that’s exactly what madness he’s descending into too. 

His stomach rolls and his legs have been twitching uncontrollably for the past hour, which he assumes is the effect of the vipers’ venom. He just has to grow a tolerance for it - Mother’s doing him a favour, really. He reminds himself to thank her as he squirms, rolling both him and the snake over and shoving his hand between his thighs. 

He’s scrunched up, teeth still closed around the reptile, but knees pressing down on it’s seizing body, keeping it as still as he can. Illumi whines, the first true sound in a while, as he sinks his teeth in as deep as he possibly can and then yanks his head up and to the side. 

It’s easy, at this point, to ignore the pain that comes when the snake’s fangs tear out of his mangled hand - it feels like all of the nerve endings have been bitten clean through and only numbness remains. 

Blood spurts in a giant, graceful arc, illuminated by the full moon - it’s not Illumi’s. The snake freezes all of a sudden and twitches, once and then again and then, it doesn’t move anymore. Half of its neck is hanging from Illumi’s maw. Its jugular, or what Illumi assumes is its jugular, is stuck between his teeth. 

“Ma- Mother,  _ mother _ , I did it,” he says triumphantly, grinning brightly at her. His teeth are bloodied and his chin shines with the slick redness of viscera. He doesn’t look human anymore. 

“The snakes,” Mother says, continuing from before as if she hasn’t heard Illumi. He tries not to sob at the obvious dismissal and clambers to his feet, shoes sliding in the slippery ground before he steadies himself. “The snakes are used as security mechanisms. Did you notice that they didn’t move until you disturbed them?”

“Yes, Mother,” Illumi says and then clicks his tongue. Mother gives him a sharp look and he stops, barely even mourning the loss of that sensation anymore. 

“People might lay those snakes out around the whole of their property. When someone tries to intrude and stumbles upon them, they’d be torn apart,” Mother says and tips her head back, breathing harshly, like the idea of it is bringing her pleasure. Illumi shifts uncomfortably, turning his blank stare down to her boots. 

“Look at me, Illumi,” Mother demands and Illumi does. “We’re going to put these snakes outside of your room.”

Oh. He supposes that’s one way to keep him at home.

“Yes, Mother,” he says softly, heat rising to his pale cheeks. He feels embarrassed, like he’s been punished like some baby, unable to go where he wants unless his parents are there to cart him there. Illumi doesn’t want his mother to see, so he turns his head, the mansion catching his eye. Unbidden, his legs start to carry him there.

“Illumi.”

Mother’s tone bodes no question. She’d probably feed him to Mike if he kept walking. She’s done it before, to a servant that stepped out of line. 

“Sorry, Mother,” Illumi says, freezing with one foot still dangling uselessly in the air. “I should know my place,” he adds, because it always seems to please her. She hums, delighted, and he knows that he’s forgiven. Mother is so good to him like that. 

“You can’t go back just yet,” Mother says and strolls up behind him, cold claws finding his shoulder and digging in  _ hard _ . “You have to go track those snakes down for your room, don’t you remember?”

“I-I thought-”

“What did you think, Lulu?” Mother asks, her breath ghosting over Illumi’s bare neck. He shivers at the thought of her teeth so close to his vulnerable throat, barely resisting the urge to cower away. 

“I thought you had more,” he admits softly and Mother tuts.

“No, no,” Mother says and dips down further so she can rest her head on Illumi’s shoulder. She turns and gives his cheek one lingering kiss and then pulls back to whisper in his ear. “These snakes deserve a little revenge for all that hitting and scratching and biting you put them through, don’t you think?”

Illumi nods. It makes sense, of course. Mother always makes sense. 

“Good boy,” Mother praises and pulls back. “You have thirteen to find. If you don’t come back before dawn, you’re not allowed to come back at all.”

With that, she ruffles Illumi’s hair and starts to speed off to the mansion, disappearing into the shadows after only a moment. 

And Illumi starts to track.

* * *

“You need to kill Hisoka Morrow.”

There’s a rush of blood that Illumi can hear rattling around his skull. He imagines it idly, the gush of crimson pounding against the walls of his capillaries and veins, fighting with each other for a spot against those boundaries, desperate to burst free and soak his scalp, down his hair, dripping into his eyes. He wants to make himself bleed, just to see it writhe against his skin.

He’s not allowed to make himself bleed. That’s a privilege meant just for others.

“Hisoka Morrow?” he echoes and Silva nods curtly.

Illumi wants to be sick. He looks down at his laps and tangles his fingers together, thumbs rubbing small circles on the inside of his wrist. Hisoka does that when they’re in bed together. “You’re sure you want him dead?” he asks and the breakfast table goes silent. It’s just his parents, him, Alluka, Kalluto, and Milluki. Killua hasn’t been at the estate for a long time, which he’s sort of glad about for the first time ever because it would be strange to hear silent like everyone else is being. 

He risks a glance upwards and flinches, involuntarily. His blood is ice and his tongue is frozen - Illumi wants to sink lower in his seat, but he stays, back ramrod straight and mouth set in a firm, straight line. 

“You’re not questioning us, are you, Lulu?” Kikyo asks and he can’t even move to shake his head. “It’s not a difficult request.”

Illumi supposes she’s right. He’s good at tracking. He’s good at killing. 

All he has to do is do that to Hisoka. 

It’s not hard.

It’s not. 


End file.
